


Joe

by mightierthanthecanon



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1284367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightierthanthecanon/pseuds/mightierthanthecanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>coffeeshop au? serial killer au? why not both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Joe

The hour between 12:30 and 1:30 is the busiest time of day for Chesapeake Coffee and it’s number one barista, Will Graham, who’s simultaneously heating a salmon/brie panini and whipping up a huge frappucino with extra shots of everything. Over the persistent hum of indie rock, typing and conversation, he hears a melodic, slightly accented voice start up a conversation with Alana, who’s working the cash register. There’s a man at the counter, asking about different coffees and making her laugh. Will’s never been attracted to a voice before, but he finds himself wishes for the first time that he was in charge of talking to the customers, anxiety be damned.

After handing the order off, Will turns to take a look at him.

The older man turns out to be as attractive as his voice, tall and sharply dressed in a cafe full of “fashionably” disheveled hipsters. His face is all hard lines and angles, with cheekbones that they could cut glass, but his smile is soft and warm as honey. The juxtaposition is startlingly attractive. Will’s ~~ogling~~ innocent looking is interrupted, however, by an obnoxious college kid who is so eager to get his order that he pushes rudely past the man, practically knocking him down in his haste. Smoothing down his suit, the older gentleman looks down at him with narrowed eyes and a slight sneer of distaste, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

"Where’s my order?" the kid shouts. "I called in advance!"

Will doesn’t want to serve him (he’d rather ~~ogle~~ stare at Mr. Accent some more), but he wants to listen to him even less, so he runs to the back looks for the bag labeled **JOE** in big black letters—3 coffees and an assortment of paninis that he made 20 minutes ago. Will hopes they’re cold.

"Have a nice day," Will says to the customer, and his lips twist in a grimace that is in no way a smile. The kid snatches it and runs out grumbling, slamming the door behind him. Turning away from the door, Will notices with a start that the older man is staring directly at him with a look he can’t quite place.

"I’m so sorry about that, Dr. Lecter," Alana says. "What can I get you?"

Will can tell she’s less sorry and more annoyed. The doctor is obviously irritated as well; any trace of humor in his voice was now gone, along with the twinkle in his eye. It occurs to Will that he must be restraining his anger, just like Will himself, and he looks at the man with renewed interest.

"Well, Miss Bloom," he answers, glancing at her name tag, "I was going to try the Kenyan that you were telling me about, but after that appalling display of rudeness, I find I’ve quite lost my appetite for fine coffee."

The doctor puts a folded $20 into the tip jar before saying, “I think today I’ll just have a cup of joe,” and heading towards the door.

Will blinks, remembering the brown paper bag with **JOE** scrawled across it in big black letters. “Did you just—”

He turns to Will with an upraised eyebrow and the ghost of a smirk, as if daring him to finish his question. “Yes?” he asks.

Will takes a full step back, then shakes his head, unsettled. “Have a nice day, Dr. Lecter,” he says, out of habit.

The doctor’s grin is a slash of curling lips and sharp teeth. “I intend to,” he says, inclining his head to Will. “Until next time, Mr. Graham.”

* * *

 

It’s not until the next week that the police come asking questions about Joe’s sudden disappearance. And it’s not until the next month that Will calls the number on the business card that had been so meticulously folded into the $20 bill. He doesn’t ask the doctor if he did it; he doesn’t need to. What Will asks him is _how._


End file.
